


Familiar Sins

by Shampain



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen, Phryne and Percival are ridiculous cousins, Phryne is a matchmaker, Queenie is A Delight, Tina is a badass but doesn't realize it, and ridiculousness, this is a bunch of silly tropes, this is not a slow burn friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: A murder, a curse, and a missing family heirloom: it’s all in a day’s work for Miss Phryne Fisher, lady detective. She’s modern. She’s fashionable. She’s a Squib – and she’s proud of it, though most of her distant relatives find it easier to ignore her branch of the family. Snobs, the lot of them, except for Percival. So who better to call for help with a tricky family matter?Getting her darling baby cousin to drop everything and make for Australia’s distant shores is easy, but convincing him to invite the woman he’s been pining over for the last two years isn’t.… Which is precisely why she goes behind his back to invite Miss Goldstein herself. What good is working a case if you can’t have a little fun with it?





	1. the telegram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The official cover to this work is [here](https://letitflytoapril.tumblr.com/post/180303743700/im-very-excited-to-announce-a-new-super-duper) and is illustrated by my extraordinarily talented friend. She is also to blame for this.

She had never seen the boy before – he was undoubtedly one of those masters of the odd job: the shoe shiner, the messenger, the jack of all trades before he even turned thirteen. He was in her way as she tried to get into the Woolworth building, arguing vociferously with the doorman in a frightful accent.

“I'm telling you, boy, there's no man by that name here.” The doorman was older, kindly, but even now beginning to look quite exasperated.

“I's told there was a Mr Percival Graves here, sir,” the boy insisted, chin sticking out. “And I ain't leavin' til I's delivered the telegram, I won't.”

Tina froze mid-dance around the two of them. Percival – Mr Graves – had taken a mysterious leave of absence not a week ago, but even so, there wasn't a single no-maj that would know he worked there in the Woolworth Building, in the hidden mecca that was MACUSA's main headquarters. And it had to be a no-maj, because what kind of witch or wizard would send a telegram? To receive a telegram was... well, it wasn't illegal, but it suggested behaviour that was certainly illicit.

Thinking quickly, she said, “Mr Graves, was it?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the boy said,“but this fellow says there's no one by that name!”

“He just took an office here quite recently,” she said quickly. “He's not yet in any directory.”

“You his secretary?” the doorman asked, somewhat disbelieving. Not, she supposed, because he thought her lying, but the fact he likely had never seen a secretary like her wearing trousers as opposed to a sensible dress.

“Yes,” she said, holding out her hand.

The boy narrowed his eyes. “What's yer name?” he demanded.

Blinking in confusion, she said, “Tina. Tina Goldstein.”

The boy handed it to her, but then solidly stood in her way, clearly refusing to budge until she had properly tipped him. The doorman let out a snort of laughter, and left to go about his business.

Finally free to go through the doors, she found herself in the lobby to MACUSA. She stepped behind a pillar so that she could surreptitiously look at the telegram and her mouth dropped open in shock.

 

_Percival Graves c/o Tina Goldstein_

 

-

 

Mercifully, the area around her desk was empty. Not wasting any time, she opened the message and read it, hoping she had done – was doing – the right thing.

 

_goldstein_

_your presence requested immediately in 221b st kilda melbourne australia stop_

_tell no one stop_

_matter of life and death sept 19 stop_

_check for mustard stop_

 

She raised her hand to touch her upper lip, where a dab of mustard always traitorously hung about after her favourite meal. Percival had definitely sent her the message. Why through telegram, though? It had likely bounced about several continents before ending up in her hands.

Still, she wasn't about to question it. It was not the first time Percival had pulled her in for special assignment at the highest discretion. Tina had a knack for being ignored and going about undetected, which made her valuable in the field. Since his return to MACUSA some months after his incarceration with Grindelwald, she was one of the few he seemed to trust – a fact she carried with pride.

Quickly, she went through her desk, grabbing up her favourite notebook and pen, the garter belt with the sheath for her wand, and, after a moment of deliberation, the tube of lipstick she kept in her desk for when she happened to work late while Percival was working late also.

After that she merely had to go about arranging for an immediate leave. The only thing she could think up was an undetermined family emergency; she would have to send Queenie a note before she left to let her in on the lie, because there was no time now to track her sister down.

How did one get themselves immediately to Australia? She had never gone that far in her life. She knew Newt travelled by boat, but that was considered a somewhat old fashioned way of getting anywhere, not to mention uncomfortable for third class passengers. Then again, his suitcase offered him a roomy abode, and he couldn't very well fly with all of his creatures...

Ah, flight. She gave a nervous swallow.

 

She almost made it. Her leave was approved without issue, and she had enough money saved up to get her a spot on a flying coach. She couldn't afford a private one, she had to share, but it would get her to Australia in under a day. It was leaving from San Diego; she would use the fireplace at MACUSA to travel to California, and catch the coach from there. She just needed to pack a few things at home first – and that was where she met interference.

“What are you doing here?” Tina exclaimed the minute Queenie barged into their shared apartment.

“I came the minute someone told me about the _family emergency_ ,” she said, kicking off her heels. “Seeing as we don't have any family save Great Aunt Doris, I figured I better come investigate.”

“And take advantage of it to leave work, you mean,” Tina said, meanly, mostly because she was rather put out she hadn't made a clean escape.

Queenie ignored what she said, but still frowned. “What's going on?” she said. “Why are you going to Australia?”

“Urgh.” Queenie and her damn legilimency. “It's for work.”

“No, it's not, or you wouldn't have lied-”

“Mr Graves wants me to lie,” Tina said. “He sent a telegram. It's outside wizarding channels, so he obviously doesn't want anyone to know. Queenie, I have to go.”

She folded her arms across her chest, her frown becoming more and more worried. “I don't like the sound of this. How do you know this isn't some... trick? A Grindelwald trick.”

The idea had certainly occurred to her; Tina sighed. “He referenced my first serious case from when I was a rookie,” she said. “September 19th, matter of life and death. Dark magic body theft from a morgue. Grindelwald wouldn't know, it was from years ago.”

Queenie's suspicious look softened, undoubtedly remembering the fallout from the case. Tina had been quite disturbed, but Graves had told her not to feel ashamed. _Nothing_ , he'd said, _can prepare you for the things you see in this job, until you see them_.

“Well,” Queenie said. “I'm coming with you.”

“No, you're not.”

“I am,” Queenie said. “It's a family emergency.”

“Queenie, you have to stay here,” Tina said, going back to throwing clothes haphazardly into her carpetbag. “I told you, this is for work.”

“I know,” Queenie said, nodding. “But I'm not about to be left alone while you go to... 221B, St Kilda. Isn't that from some no-maj story?”

“Queenie, stop reading my mind.”

“Sorry, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly. “But I'm coming. Even if it's in a coach right behind you.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Teeny, you know I would.”

 

They shared the coach with two old ladies who were visiting some grandchildren that had set up life in Sydney. They spent the first several hours of the ride grilling Queenie and Tina relentlessly about their love lives and careers, before finally falling asleep sometime in the night, when the sun was gone and the only light came from the lanterns swinging from the roof of the carriage, and the only sound was the steady beating of the thestrals' wings.

Queenie wrapped her hand around Tina's, placed her head on her shoulder. Tina could not sleep, instead stared out at the darkness and the stars, wondering. The knot of fear and tension in her stomach was eased by her sister's presence; she wouldn't say it, but she was glad not to be making the trip alone. She wondered what awaited the both of them when the sun rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is entirely the fault of my pal Mulder (not X-Files, but probably an alien) who gave me this idea of Percival and Phryne being related in the first place. I mean, it's pretty obvious when you look at them. Please note I am _completely ignoring_ The Crimes of Grindelwald.
> 
> And I can't believe this but [this wonderful person created an amazing piece of work](http://floating-in-the-blue.tumblr.com/post/180646427960/for-vodkertonic-and-mulder-wtf-because-im-so) to connect to this story too! 
> 
> As always, please excuse any typos or mistakes, I don't use a beta and I don't do this for money! I only hope you all enjoy this romp through Melbourne~


	2. 221b, st kilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queenie and Tina arrive in Melbourne.

1 week ago;

 

_It was late. She had told Dot not to stay up, because in the morning she would need to wake up in time to send Jane off to school. Still, she half-suspected her faithful assistant to be in the kitchen, drinking hot cocoa and darning stockings, waiting for Phryne’s return. Thankfully, it appeared Dot had had the good sense to go to bed._

_Mr Butler was still up and about, however, to take Phryne’s coat as she came in the door. She hoped he did not sense her anxiety, for he had that otherworldly sense of knowing things, the way those gifted in the service tended to possess. “Will you be needing a late supper, miss?” he asked._

“ _Just a stiff drink, Mr Butler, thank you.”_

_Crystal glass in hand, she went into her bedroom, where she kept some of her most secret things – even though the room itself hosted many visitors, none of them ever went beyond the boundary of the bed itself._

_Kneeling in front of her dresser, she opened the bottom drawer and pawed through the silky underthings until she found it – a simple tin that had once housed a lovely hand soap. It had been one of the first things she’d purchased, when she had inherited her money. After those years scrubbing blood from her hands with hard carbolic soap at the battlefronts, she had been overcome with the urge to purchase the lovely, lavender-scented item the moment it had come under her nose in the shops in Paris._

_Anyone else might have suspected love letters – indeed, that was what she hoped people might think was inside. No paramour of hers would care, and Dot and Mr Butler would never pry. But what was inside was far more rare, far more special, than poetry or declarations. At the very top were a few bank notes, meant to distract; beneath, newspaper clippings from her time in Montparnasse. And then, below, exactly five pieces of paper._

_It was a fine linen paper, carefully cut. There was a faint smell to them; she held one page to her nose and breathed in a spicy, musky scent. Then she went to her writing desk and got a pen, not bothering to sit, simply bending down over the paper as she wrote._

Dearest one,

I need your help desperately. Trust me when I say I would not ask such a thing of you if it wasn’t truly dire. I am afraid the watch has gone missing, and it is entirely my fault.

I’m in Melbourne. Please come.

Your beloved cousin,

Phryne

_Nodding to herself, she concentrated as she began to fold the paper. It had to be done exactly right, as he had shown her all those years ago when he gave her the enchanted paper in the first place. She thought back to her own years of making planes with Janey, how she had shown her as well._

_She didn’t have a needle – that was more Dot’s domain – but she had more than one knife laying around. Freeing the dagger she had concealed in her garter before she went out for the evening, she pricked the tip of her finger and then pushed her thumb up along it. Soon blood beaded on her skin, and she dabbed it on the nose of the little paper plane._

_Going to the window, she opened it and set it on the sill, and watched._

_It fluttered briefly, as if there was a wind, but it was a warm, still night. She clasped her hands together to stop herself from reaching out and giving it a little nudge. Soon enough it tipped to one side, then the other, then shifted and toppled right off the sill._

_She watched it float upwards, then rise, up and up, and disappear into the night._

 

 

now;

 

Tina hadn't expected the heat. As soon as she and Queenie stepped foot on Australian soil they quickly shucked off their winter coats and carried them in the crook of their elbows. It was only when Queenie tucked herself close to Tina that she realized they had never, in their lives, been so far from home.

But Melbourne wasn't frightening at all. In fact, far from it. The hustle and bustle reminded her of New York but it seemed cleaner to her eyes, and brighter – helped, of course, by the fact it was apparently late summer here – and she reminded herself that this city was younger than her own.

“Let's get a cab,” Tina said. “Who's good?”

Queenie glanced around, though of course she didn't need to look – thoughts came at her regardless of where her gaze landed. She didn't say anything but she took the lead, pulling Tina along with one hand, and lugging her carpetbag with the other. She had recognized someone who could be trusted. People were like snapshots to Queenie, which she could see at a glance.

“Hi,” she said. “How much for a trip to St. Kilda? Um,” she paused, suddenly, and then flashed her prettiest smile. “We only have American dollars, we're so sorry. Maybe a bank first?”

Of course, the man doffed his had to her and grinned. “No worries, miss. Your dollar's just fine for a fellow like me.”

“Let's go then,” Queenie said brightly. They both sat up front with him, their luggage stowed in the back. Queenie took the middle seat; she was happy, it seemed, to play the sweet social sister.

“Where to then, love?”

“221B, St. Kilda,” she said. “If you please.”

It was a nice cab, Tina noted, only a few years old. From the look of their driver, she was a bit surprised – not that he looked shoddy, of course, but he seemed more the man to buy a good pair of shoes and wear them for ten years, and a new cab seemed out of place. Maybe he had just moved on from his older one?

She was tense, worried about what awaited her at the end of their journey – danger, or mayhem, which she had allowed Queenie to involve herself in. How could she have let her sister muscle her way in? It was irresponsible. She could barely marvel at the beauty of the foreign city she found herself in, she was so worried.

“On the house?” Queenie asked curiously, interrupting her thoughts.

Their driver looked at her and for a minute Tina felt a brief moment of alarm; Queenie really had a hard time holding it together around no-majs, sometimes. “What's that?”

“You said 'on the house',” Queenie said sweetly, even though he had said no such thing.

He seemed to believe her; Queenie's eyes were bewitching enough on their own that real magic wasn't needed. “Yeah,” he said, and Tina tried not to scoff at men bending over backwards for her sister – that is, until he added, “I know where you're going and she's always happy to pay for anyone. I'm guessing you're expected, just surprised she didn't send me to pick you up from the docks all proper.”

Tina and Queenie exchanged a glance. _She?_ They both thought.

It was an absolutely beautiful house, the largest one on the block. Tina had been expecting an apartment, from the address, only it became clear to her that whoever owned the place had added the 'B' on the end for some reason, perhaps to be amusing. There were wrought iron balconies, bunches of flowers and greenery along the front, and large open windows with diaphanous drapes shifting within.

“Here we go,” their driver said, as a man in a clean-cut suit came out the front door. A uniform, she realized, some kind of servant. “Got some guests, Mr Butler.”

“Thank you, Bert,” the man said, in an accent that sounded quite cultured to Tina's ear. “I'll get the bags. Dot's just put some tea on in the kitchen.”

“Excellent.” The driver – Bert, apparently – doffed his hat yet again to Tina and Queenie before taking a walkway that Tina assumed led to the back of the house.

“Please, come in,” Mr Butler said, opening the door for them.

“Does he live here?” Queenie asked curiously, trying to unload her bag while Mr Butler attempted to do it for her. He laughed.

“You could say that,” he said. “We've got quite a few regulars in this house. No, please, miss, I've got that. You'll be wanting to see Miss Fisher immediately.”

“We're actually here for-” Tina began, but Queenie was pulling her into the house. She supposed her sister had the right idea – moving forward would answer their questions more quickly than waffling about outside.

Her eyes were darting everywhere, because she was here for Percival Graves, at his request, and she would not forget that. But all she saw was a lovely and well-tended house, belonging to someone of a much higher pay grade that Tina. Her mind was swimming, and she tried to come to terms with what was happening. Who was Miss Fisher? What if...

“Tina, Percival Graves does _not_ have a secret wife in Australia,” Queenie scolded. “You've been reading too many pulps!”

“But look at this place,” Tina hissed – when there was a thumping noise, and she looked up.

At the top of the stairs stood a woman, who had apparently just gallivanted down onto the upper landing. From the tips of her ivory shoes up to her shiny black hair she was every inch the cool, glamourous woman Tina always failed at being. This, then – this must be Miss Fisher, mistress of the house.

Her very red lips opened in a shape of surprise. “There's two of you!” she exclaimed. “Oh, that's a surprise! Which one of you is Tina?”

For a moment, both Goldsteins just stared up at her, until Queenie dug an elbow sharply into Tina's ribs. “I am,” she blurted.

Miss Fisher smiled warmly. “Yes, I thought you might be,” she said. “And you're her sister? Ah! Lovely! Well, Percival is this way.” She raised her voice, loud and thrumming. “Dot!”

Queenie jumped when a young woman materialized from the nearest entryway. Tina gave her a quick look: a bit younger than they were, wearing a sensible dress. _Definitely not a secret wife_ , she thought, and she heard Queenie sigh in annoyance.

“Yes miss?” she asked.

“Bring up a tray, please; the rum.”

Tina began walking up the stairs, heedless of the fact Mr Butler was depositing their things behind her. Her real goal was now before her, and she would not be swayed. She heard Queenie quickly make her apologies to Mr Butler before following. “Mr Graves is here?” she said. “I need to see him.”

“Yes, of course,” Miss Fisher said. “This way.”

She took the steps two at a time and caught up with Miss Fisher quickly. She was taller than their hostess, she saw – then again Tina was taller than most women. “Through here,” Miss Fisher said, before stopping at a closed bedroom door. She knocked.

And then she heard it – Percival Graves' voice. “Yes?”

“Good, you're up,” Miss Fisher said through the door. “Are you decent? We have guests.”

As Percival said “What are you talking about?” still through the distance of the door, Miss Fisher turned and frowned at Tina and Queenie.

“I need to apologize,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Tina asked, but Queenie's mouth was already dropping open in surprise.

“Percival didn't invite you,” Miss Fisher said. “I did. I didn't know what else to do. Don't worry; he'll only be angry with me. Alright then! Come on.” And she opened the door before Tina could leap on her and stop her from doing _whatever it was she was doing_ , but probably ruining Tina's life.

The bed was empty. Percival Graves was sitting at the window, perched on the ledge, smoking a cigarette in a state of some undress. Tina didn't even have time to marvel at the sight of him – one foot up on the sill, with no waistcoat or jacket, just a shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, suspenders hanging over his hips – before having to deal with the fact she had never, in her life, seen him looking surprised.

“Look,” Miss Fisher said, holding her arms out to motion to Tina, as if she was some sort of prize and Miss Fisher was one of those women hired to show it off. “It's Tina Goldstein! I've brought you Tina. Isn't that lovely? Oh,” she added. “And her sister.”

“I'm Queenie,” Queenie beamed, holding her hand out. She and Miss Fisher shook hands rather amiably, while Percival continued to stare in shock – a look that was fast becoming, Tina noticed with a wince, a full-on glare.

“Phryne,” he ground out. “I'm going to kill you.”

Miss Fisher laughed. “Nonsense. We're family.”

“Barely!”

“Should you even be smoking?” she asked, trotting over to him. She was wearing a blouse with gauzy sleeves that wafted behind her as she walked. “Give me that.”

Percival held his cigarette out the window, out of reach. “Absolutely not.”

“You're being childish.”

“You're being insufferable,” he retorted. “Miss Goldstein, Tina, I would like to formally apologize for my cousin's actions. Would you please give us a moment?”

“Percival, it's rude to kick your guests out,” Miss Fisher said.

Queenie grabbed Tina's hand. “Maybe we should step out,” she began, when Dot appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray. Miss Fisher heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good,” she said. “The rum.” She darted back to the doorway, grabbed up the glass that had about three finger's worth of black liquid from Dot's tray, and strode purposefully back to Percival. She shoved it into his free hand, then said something very quietly to him, in his ear.

Tina felt Queenie squeeze her hand, and she glanced over at her sister. Neither of them could hear what was being said, but undoubtedly Queenie could pick up Miss Fisher's thoughts, because her expression – which had been quite amused a moment go – quickly tightened with worry.

Tina quickly took stock of the room. It was a bedroom, yes, but there was a desk, a small table, chairs – she wondered if it had quickly been converted into something more like a suite, and the furniture was a recent addition. And she found it odd, too, that despite Percival's surprise at her arrival, he had not gotten to his feet to greet her. Instead, he stayed seated. That was not the man she knew.

Queenie dragged her back out into the corridor. “Dot,” she said, for the woman had already begun to descend back down the stairs. Her question cemented the worries Tina suddenly felt in her stomach. “How long has Mr Graves been ill?”

Dot hugged the silver tea tray to her chest. “Three days,” she said, frowning. “He's better now, though; he was unconscious for the first day and a half.”

“From what?”

“Miss Fisher wouldn't say.”

“Was it-”

“Tina.” Miss Fisher had poked her head out of the bedroom. “Queenie? Could you both come back in, please.”

Percival was still at the window, but the cigarette was stubbed out, its remains smoking in a nearby ash tray. His glass was nearly empty. No longer distracted by the lack of his usual style of dress, she saw now the bruised look around his eyes, the somewhat grey complexion.

Miss Fisher had busied herself at the desk, pulling out paper and ink. “I take it Phryne explained she had been the one to invite you?” he asked.

Tina swallowed. “So we shouldn't be here?” Well, she knew Queenie definitely shouldn't be, but to think she had dropped everything and flown to Australia, all on the request of a note that hadn't even been sent by the man she'd thought it was from...

“I'm glad you're here.” It was such a heavy, solid statement from him; Tina felt all of her nerves vanish in an instant. She'd done the right thing; he wasn't angry with her, in fact he was _glad_ she was there. She watched him cast a glance at her sister. “And I suppose Queenie inserting herself isn't a surprise, when I think about it.”

“She was rather insistent.”

“I assume she caught you before you made your escape?”

“More or less.”

“Family can be difficult,” he said.

Miss Fisher snorted. “Indeed,” she said. “I'll explain quickly, ladies. Percival was here to help with a delicate family situation which went rather badly astray a few days ago. And by astray, I mean this idiot nearly got blown up.”

“It was me or you.”

“Well if it was me, at least _someone_ would have been able to take care of things while I was out,” she retorted. She waved at Queenie. “I won't be able to spell any of this, perhaps you could write out the list for me, Queenie? May I call you that?”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“Good! You may call me Phryne.” She pulled the chair back for Queenie to sit.

Tina drew closer to Percival. The more distance she closed the more she noticed – that he had skipped some shaves, that there was a faint whiff of sweat about him. What had happened? “I didn't know what to do,” Phryne continued. “He wouldn't wake. So I sent the telegram.”

“I told you,” he said, quietly. “I would have been just fine after a few more days.”

“Well, you say that every time,” she said. “And now you'll be better off. Queenie can get all the ingredients and she and Dot can whip something together and then you'll be right as rain.”

“Tina should go.”

“I can go,” Queenie interrupted, pen tip poised above the paper. She looked bright and cheerful and suddenly Tina felt rather... suspicious. What was her sister picking up on, while Tina laboured in the dark? “It's no problem. Mr Graves ought to update Tina; I mean, she's the one with the skill set, isn't she? To help with your problem?”

Tina shot her a warning look; her sister was the absolute worst at keeping her mind-reading habits under wraps. Luckily, most people chalked it up to womanly intuition.

Phryne just smiled in a dazzling way. “Sounds wonderful,” she said. “Cec and Bert can give you a lift where you need to go. Oh, but don't be suspicious or they'll follow you, and they simply can't. Please, keep it to yourselves, hm? My household doesn't know.”

“About what?” Tina asked.

“Magic,” Phryne smiled. “We're – what are they called? No-majs, the lot of us. That's why I couldn't go pick up any medicine, I wouldn't have the faintest clue how to get in.”

Tina looked, wide eyed, at Percival. He just shrugged.

“You can't pick your family, Tina,” he said, frankly. “But even if I could, Phryne's still at the top of the list – despite the fact she's as tricky as a vampire in a hospital.”

“Or a ghoul in a morgue,” Phryne added pleasantly. “Right. Let's get this under way. We've been out of the game far too long already.”

 

1 week ago;

 

_He hadn’t seen Phryne in years. They corresponded every now and then; a letter would show up in the mail, detailing some adventure or other. When it was opportunistic to meet, they did. But they had different lives, despite their wishes._

_The law in America had been firm, but when he’d crossed the ocean to take up arms against the Germans he had ignored it. She was his blood, even though his ancestral family didn’t like to acknowledge her. The Fisher branch had been neatly wiped from the family tree, in the age-old presumption that to be anything other than magically inclined was horrific and shameful. Percival was of a different mind and, to be frank, a different generation altogether._

_Melbourne was hot, an angry shock against the wintry cold he had just escaped in New York. It was all opposite here; he would have barely known what time it was if he hadn’t planned his departure exactly, knew how long it would take and when he would find himself on the other side of the world. At least it was evening and the heat was a mere remainder of the daytime sun._

_The paper he had given her those years ago, if ever she was in trouble, had told him where to go with a simple relocation spell. He stepped quickly past street urchins and alley drunks – wherever you went in the world, there were hungry children and drunken men – and made his way down Queen Street._

_The watch. The tiny, diamond-studded watch, which a lady many years ago might have worn about her neck, and which he had given to Phryne for safe-keeping. It had belonged to his grandmother, a miserable old woman, but it had a protective charm on it and he found it fitting that it should be used to keep safe someone whom his grandmother would have found worthless._

_Unfortunately, that had been Percival’s mistake. They had been younger, then, but still adults, and they should have known better. On the bloody fields of battle, even the purest of intentions could be warped._

 

_A young woman answered the door, presumably his cousin’s lady’s maid. “Evening, sir,” she said, holding the door wide for him as he came in. She had the sort of look on her face that told him she had expected someone else, and he had a vague inkling of why. It was possible expected house guests were not of the attractive male variety – those Phryne likely manhandled to the bedroom after dinner._

“ _Percy!”_

_There she was, coming down the stairs at a near-trot. Her hair was styled in a short, shiny bob, and she was wearing a pair of diaphanous ivory trousers with her blouse and dangling necklaces. She hadn’t changed since he’d last seen her in Barcelona. “Phryne,” he said, opening his arms. They hugged for as long as propriety allowed – and after that, several seconds longer._

“ _Dot,” she exclaimed, suddenly, disentangling herself from his arms. “This is my cousin, the very esteemed Percival Graves, of New York City.”_

_Dot’s face lit up. “Ah!” she said, and gave him a small curtsy. Percival, who rather insistently lived alone and without hired help, felt like he had once again been dunked into the water that was British aristocracy and he didn’t like it. “Hello, Mr Graves.”_

_Phryne quickly dashed that sensation. “Oh, don’t stand on ceremony for him, Dot,” she laughed. “He’s a scamp. Call him Percival and have done with it.”_

“ _I’m as much a scamp as you are a lady,” he observed dryly._

“ _Come, let's have a drink.” She seized his hand and led him towards the dining room. One would think they had been raised together, running through the grounds of some grand old country estate, dirtying their clothes and being sent to bed without supper. In reality he had been raised in privilege, well-fed; she in poverty, always hungry. And the both of them an ocean apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took! I was struggling with some story logistics. Sorry for any typos, I didn't want any of y'all to wait any longer! <3


	3. the case

It was Queenie's first time outside of America – outside of the northern states, in fact – and she was absolutely _delighted_ with it.

There were familiar things but also strange things, as well. When she asked, Cec was quick to explain anything and everything, while Bert chuckled at his eagerness. She didn't need to hear thoughts in order to know they were burning with questions for her, as well; but she was able to distract them with her own, cheery commentary.

But she remembered what Phryne said: don't let Cec and Bert get suspicious, or they would follow her. Percival had given her the directions on how to reach the no-maj entryway; and then, further, instructions on how to get into the magical world of Melbourne and beyond.

Before she left, he motioned her closer. Percival Graves had always been a distant figure to her, but she felt like she knew him from how often he was around Tina, and how much (and how highly) she spoke of him. His mind was a closed door to her, but that didn't matter.

“Say little and listen to everything,” he said. “Strange things have been happening the last week in the no-maj world. It may have made it to ours, while I have been recovering. I need you to let me know if you hear anything.”

She was tickled to be asked. Did he think well of her, because she was close to Tina – the same reason Queenie thought so highly of him?

“You sure we can't help you with anything?” Bert asked, as Queenie stepped down onto the sidewalk at the edge of a busy market. She dimpled up at the two men.

“I'll be fine,” she said. “They were just trynna get me out of the house, I think. Can't talk serious stuff with me around. Pick me up here in an hour?”

There; they could gossip about that while she went in.

She had to be as normal as she could. There was no way she could pretend to be Australian, so she was already going to stick out like a sore thumb, but at least they spoke English here. The list she had in her hand had been doctored to be less suspicious by adding several other items. It was to be a recovery draught, which she had no idea about but certainly they taught all the Aurors, and hopefully it worked. Besides, being good in the kitchen was a result of being an ace at Potions back at Ilvermorny.

Steeling herself, preparing to be as innocent and sweet and charming as possible, Queenie headed into the crowd in search of the entrance to Knicks Alley.

 

-

 

Tina felt like a mess, wearing clothes she had slept in and not a scrap of makeup on her face, while the glowing Miss Fisher offered her some tea and biscuits and triangle-shaped sandwiches.

They were in the sitting room; Percival had gone back to sleep almost immediately after Queenie had set off. Clearly, he trusted Phryne to explain the situation to Tina, which made her feel strangely jealous of the woman. To be trusted like that, by him, would be awfully nice.

Dot was in the kitchen and Mr Butler was tending to the flowers in the garden, so they were alone, and it was safe to talk. “A handful of generations back, someone in the Graves family was born with no magic,” Phryne explained, handing Tina a cup of tea. “A great grand aunt or maybe even someone more direct. I'm not really sure of the details, except knowing that she was plucked pretty quickly from the family tree, so she sought new family elsewhere. Can't say I blame her.”

“So you two are quite... distant cousins?” Tina asked, carefully. Distant enough to marry, if that was what the two of them were like...

Phryne smiled. “If we share any blood, I doubt there's enough to fill a wine glass. But that doesn't matter. They say you can't choose your family, yet I'm delighted to say we picked each other with very little reservations. Unfortunately, that's how this whole thing started.”

“You called Mr Graves over here?”

“I had no idea what else to do,” Phryne said. She slid forward a little folder she had set aside on the coffee table, and flipped it open. At the very top was a black and white photograph of a watch.

Even in the greyness of the picture Tina could see how fine and delicate it was, on the end of a thin, silvery chain. Gems were embedded along the edges. “Percival and I met in France, during the war. He knew he had family over there and he tracked me down, quite against the law in America, but when you're facing death I think little things like that don't seem as important.”

“Did you know he was a wizard?” Tina asked, carefully. Then, unable to resist her hunger any longer (it had been a long journey, after all) she picked up one of the sandwiches.

The other woman smiled. “I knew he was different, and he was breaking some sort of rule, though I couldn't tell what,” she said. “No one else ever seemed to notice he was there when he stopped by to visit me. He was very careful. But then he gave me this watch. It belonged to his grandmother, or something like that, who found people like me disgusting, so I think it amused him to pass it along.”

Tina swallowed her mouthful of sandwich, and washed it down with some tea. Like everything else in the house, it was better quality than anything else she'd ever had in her life. “What did the watch do? There has to have been something.”

“Protection charm,” Phryne sighed. “A small one. It was meant to redirect anything that came at me, or absorb most of the force – it was a bit of a hazardous time in France, where things tended to explode and men were getting shot, and I think it comforted him to know I was less likely to get hit by shrapnel. I didn't know that, of course, I just promised to always keep it on me – stop anyone from stealing it, that sort of thing.”

Tina considered the surface of her tea, thinking. Just knowing that Percival Graves had gone against tradition – could it be called illegal if it was in Europe? – to protect a woman he barely knew made her heart skip for a moment. It was a scary thought, but a good one, too. She didn't think most people would do what he had, in the circumstances, and she respected it.

“So what's the problem with the watch?”

The older woman grinned. “He told me you were sharp,” she said, approval radiating from her voice. Tina tried not to looked enormously flattered, attempting to hide her expression behind her teacup. “Well, one of two things. First, the watch has gone missing. It was stolen about a week ago from my safety deposit box at the bank, along with items belonging to several other patrons. I was able to find who sold the stolen goods, but not who it was sold _to_ , so I called Percival.”

“And the second problem?”

Phryne bit into a sandwich. “The watch is cursed.”

Tina set her teacup down, loudly. “Cursed? You told me it was charmed.”

Phryne nodded. “Oh, it was,” she said. “Unfortunately, after Percy gave it to me, I accidentally cursed it. My intentions were good – the road to Hell and all that rot.”

“You cursed-”

“It was more circumstances that did it.” She waved her hand, as if to dispel Tina's question, but Tina was definitely going to ask Percival for specifics later if Phryne would not give her any. “What's important is that it's a cursed object, and it's out there wreaking who-knows what sort of havoc in Melbourne, and we need to put a stop to it. We almost found it the other day, and then we lost track again.”

“How was Mr Graves injured?”

“By being a fool. I set off a booby trap by mistake and he stepped up and took the hit. See, from what I could gather while he was sleeping it off, my watch is not the only magical object on the black market. Several items have been rounded up, my watch among them, and are to be available at a very private and very illegal auction at the end of the week.”

Tina rubbed her fingertips against her temple. “So there are no-majs selling wizarding objects?” she asked, carefully. “Or possibly wizards selling wizarding objects to no-majs?”

“Yes.”

“It should be reported to the wizarding government, here.”

“No point. I've been speaking with the local constabulary, and if any of the victims are wizards they are not working with no-maj police. They'll have reported it to the Ministry of Magic here by now, or they simply don't care.”

“Still, a full knowledge of all that has gone missing would help them-”

“Miss Goldstein,” Phryne interrupted, and then stopped. She was silent for a moment, considering Tina very carefully; and Tina felt quite like an ant held hostage under a magnifying lens. It was not an angry look, and she was still the luxurious hostess, but there was something very serious about her eyes and mouth as she stared Tina down. “When I called Percival here, he said the same thing, but I told him we could not tell anyone – on my side or his – about the truth of that watch. Have you any idea what the scandal would do to him? He would be ruined, Tina. If he ever returned to America – and he would be noble enough to do so – he would be arrested. Even if they let him off, I'm well aware that things have already gone badly for him in the last year, and that would be it. Everything he has ever fought and lived for would be taken away. Every case he worked on when he was younger would be put under a lens and discredited. He followed his heart and what he felt was right when he was younger, and now because of me it might destroy him.

“One man has already died because of that watch, and I almost lost Percival in the process. More than ever, we have to take care of this on our own. Once we have the watch, I promise we will tip off the Ministry and let them busy themselves with all that remains. I can't tell you what to do, Tina. But I can ask you, if you love him, not to tell a single soul outside of our little group.”

Tina had already made her decision, halfway through Phryne's speech. She knew the other woman was right. Percival had technically not broken a law but he had behaved unwisely, and MACUSA would rip him apart for it after he had already spent so hard recovering after Grindelwald. He would have nothing – he would be taken from her – cases might be overturned and maybe even criminals walking free. So many horrible things would happen. If there was one thing Tina had learned, it was how to walk the line between obeying the law and doing the right thing. She had made a mistake with Credence, tried to take the law into her own hands to terrible results. But she had learned from that.

Besides, it wasn't like she was employed by the Australian government, or anything like that. She was American, and this was an American matter, wasn't it?

“I won't tell anyone,” she promised. It was only after Phryne smiled and took a sip of her tea did Tina realize, with a start, that she had not corrected the last part of Phryne's sentence.

Phryne reached over and laid her hand atop Tina's. “I knew it was the right thing to ask you for help,” she said. “Again, I'm sorry it was so duplicitous, but I needed you urgently.”

“How _did_ you know?” Tina asked; the question had been gnawing at her ever since she had arrived. Not how Phryne knew she could trust Tina to keep Percival's best interests at heart, but how she knew exactly what to write to have Tina come running.

Phryne Fisher smiled, and it was actually the first real smile in the conversation – a tension Tina hadn't noticed lurking about the other woman had fled. “He talks about you,” she said.

Before Tina could remark on that, they both heard a knock on the door. Phryne heaved herself forward from her languid position on the couch. “That'll be the Inspector,” she said. “I hope you can keep your cool around a few more no-majs, Tina. Once my items were liberated from the bank, it unfortunately became a police matter.”

“Sounds like a bit of a juggling act.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

 

-

 

Queenie went in through the back gate. Cec and Bert pointed the way for her before roaring off in their cab to make some money. She took a moment to admire the gardens before making her way to the kitchen.

Perhaps she should have knocked, because when she burst in there was a flutter of activity – namely, Dot quickly pulling away from a sweet-looking gentleman in a black uniform. “Oh, sorry, did I startle you?” Queenie asked, pulling off her hat.

“Oh, no, of course not- er, miss?” the man said, quickly realizing he did not recognize Queenie. His mind was a bustle of thoughts, most of them to do with propriety, and Queenie quickly tried not to laugh.

“Hugh, this is Miss Goldstein,” Dot said. She looked calm but was blushing furiously as she folded a kitchen towel.

“Ooh, no, call me Queenie,” she invited, holding out her hand to firmly shake Hugh's. “Oh, you too, Dot,” she added, turning her attention to the other young woman. “If that's alright. Miss Goldstein sounds so stuffy; no one calls me that, not even at work.”

“Hugh is a constable,” Dot explained, in an attempt to get the conversation back to the business at hand. “He's here about the watch.”

“I see.” Queenie looked around, found a hook, and hung up her hat. She placed her brown paper package on the kitchen table, and slipped off her coat. “Well, aren't you two the cutest,” she enthused, hanging her coat up as well – at the last minute tucking her wand cleanly out of sight in a narrow skirt pocket. “If you two wanted to take a stroll in the park, I can get started here. A draught for Mr Graves, you know, get him feeling better. Old family recipe.”

“Er,” Hugh said. “I'm on duty but thank you all the same – Dot and I-”

“I should help with the draught,” Dot hurriedly finished. “Hugh and I are going to the pictures tonight.”

“Yes,” Hugh said.

They were both adorable and Queenie couldn't help grinning. First Miss Fisher – her brain full of Percival and Tina – and now these two. Since Queenie's own love life was a barren crater, it was nice to be surrounded by all of this now.

“Collins!” someone called from the front room.

“I should go,” Hugh said. For a moment he and Dot seemed to dance awkwardly around each other, before he was finally able to plant a kiss on her cheek and flee the kitchen.

“Now,” Queenie said, beaming. She pointed to the stove. “How do you make that work?”

Dot just looked at her.


End file.
